I'm thinking that my room is too cold and that my bed is freezing. I'm thinking of the two Roberts and how I miss them. I'm thinking of how screwed up I am. How every boy I've ever loved has never said he loved me back, not once. I'm thinking that being a virgin at the age of 31 has got to be a world record. How I have a permanent spot on a list that says "Losers" at the top of it. How I keep being told I'm just not their type. How lonely it feels deep down in this part of me that cries. I'm thinking that I'm tired of being ugly. I want to be beautiful. I'm thinking that I don't read enough and do the enough of the things I said I was going to do. I'm thinking that I'm fooling myself that life is anything other than misery. I'm thinking no one cares. I'm thinking that dark rooms on gloomy Mondays bring out the best in no one....and I'm thinking that tears were not meant to be mopped up by pillows.

I'm thinking.

Too much.

As usual.